


Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives

by AdelineAround



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs in a Car, Bottom Connor, Car Sex, Connor just wants the D, Deepthroating, Deepthroating Kink, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Fantasizing, First Love, Hand Jobs, Imagination, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Revolution, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Top Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Connor blows lieutenant Hank Anderson in the Chicken Feed parking lot.That's it.





	Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what _Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives_ is.  
>  But, surprisingly, this doesn't happen in DDD... and I am shocked.  
>  **EDIT: Guy Fieri ruined my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.**

It takes a while for Connor to realize that his sample analyzer, his _tongue_ , is more useful than at work.

Ever since the revolution, thanks to combined effort with Markus and North, Connor has been discovering new aspects to his CyberLife equipment; his body. Though his mechanical parts have not been changed, it does not stop him from finding new ways to manipulate it with his thoughts and feelings.

Hank is in bed, passed out after downing half a bottle of whiskey, when Connor experiences his first erection.

He is sitting on the couch, radio playing some type of lovely evening serenade through its speakers. Connor can pick up how old it is; from 2014, sung by a man that is no longer recording his beautifully pieced-together lyrics. He wonders if Hank had once listened to this, if he had danced to it.

Connor closes his eyes unconsciously then, imagining Hank sway to the beat. Would he dance with someone to this song? After all, Connor figures, it is a love song.

So, in his mind, Hank sways to the rhythm of the song, strong hands resting on his partner’s waist. They dance, bodies so close to one another that Connor can almost feel the heat coming off of them. Their breaths synchronize as the song hits the chorus, chests rising and falling with little puffs of air. It is like a silent form of communication, one that does not require words or gazes into the eye. Their chests are pressed close; Connor can nearly feel Hank’s heartbeat from his ribcage. It goes a steady _thu-thump, thu-thump_ , full and beating and so humanly alive.

Oh, how he yearns to feel that steady heartbeat beneath his ear. He wants to feel Hank’s body up against his, hips grinding with his own. He can feel the hardness of Hank’s manhood rubbing over his, breath staggering as they rut together on the dance floor. He would gasp, maybe moan, and shift his stance a little in hopes of better purchase.

Connor looks down at his lap, heat trapped in his cheeks. His cock twitches in anticipation, excited for the explicit imagery racing through Connor’s mind. Shame washes over him; why is he becoming hard at the thought of the lieutenant?

They have not slept with each other since that breaking dawn when androids were considered a free people. Emotion had coursed through both men, sending both Hank and Connor into a kissing frenzy the moment they got home. They clawed at each other’s clothes, anxious to feel each other. Connor seeked the thrill, and Hank sought after the heat of it all. It was less than perfect, but wholly orgasmic; Connor’s LED blinks yellow in hot remembrance.

Pulling memory shots of Hank’s cock, as Connor had taken and stored them into his brain that night, he feels his cheeks rush with bluish color. It is, by standards, an average length. However, the girth makes up for what Hank lacks, if he is missing anything at all. With the head curved slightly upwards, it hit the most pleasurable spots inside Connor that night.

Connor wants to feel it again.

He licks his lips unconsciously- he wants to feel Hank’s cock upon his tongue, taste the alkaline of the man’s spend and analyze it so that he may have all the information about Hank stored in his hard drive. To have a big, fat cock in his mouth would be an absolute dream, he thinks. Connor feels desire cooling deep within his core, draining down to his lower regions.

Looking down, he realizes that his work pants are tenting at the zipper, taut to the point of discomfort.

Oh, he thinks.

He’s hard.

Connor’s artificial cock throbs with anticipation, ready for any type of stimulation, whether it be penetration or the like. He wants that, now.

However, the clock shows that it is too late to wake Hank up for assistance. It would be too awkward a scenario if he did. Connor, too, must charge his battery soon if he wants to complete the work he has in the morning.

So, willing away his erection, the RK800 model sidles up to his lieutenant on the mattress and switches his mode to stasis.

* * *

“... don’t you think, Connor?”

Connor whips his head to face Hank, who is habitually picking at his cuticles. It’s something that Hank should stop, as it causes him to have dry, cracking nail beds.

“I’m sorry, lieutenant. What was that again?” Connor smiles gently, waiting for Hank to repeat his sentence.

But, because Hank is still Hank, he rolls his eyes at the android, “God, Connor. Spare a man some sympathy when he’s trying to rant about his shitty coworkers,”

Connor deduces that Hank is talking about the one Gavin Reed. “Is this about detective Reed again?” he asks innocently.

Hank huffs, clearly not amused. “Of course it’s about Gavin, Connor. When is that son of a bitch _not_ pressing my buttons?” Before Connor can answer, Hank quickly adds, “And don’t you dare answer that,”

Shutting his mouth, Connor listens to Hank’s request with respect.

“Gavin’s acting strange, don’t you think? Never showing up for department meetings; turning in things late, or turning it in at odd times of the day,” Hank continues, “But ever since that RK900 came around, all they’ve been doing is…”

“Is, what, lieutenant?” Connor asks when Hank stops talking and fumbles with a pen at his desk.

“You know what? Forget it. I don’t know why I’m telling you this at work,” Hank concludes, slamming the pen down suddenly. “Have the results come in yet from the evidence we found at the scene?”

Connor tries not to chuckle. “Not yet. It has only been a mere three hours and forty-two minutes since we’ve submitted said evidence.”

Hank sighs, pushing his chair back. Boredom is clear as daylight on his face. “You would think, with all the technology we have in this day and age, our processing time would shorten down some,” he groans.

“This is a very difficult case to solve, even for me,” Connor admits, unleashing a smug smile onto his lips. “Which means we either pick up another case, or we bide our time doing something otherwise productive.”

Hank seems to like the thought of that, because he perks up at Connor’s words, straightening his spine just a little bit.

“Then I’m starving. Chicken Feed sounds just about perfect right now,” he declares. His body is already moving, packing up his things so he can skidaddle to his favorite fast food joint. “What d’ya say, Connor? Do you want to come with, or stay here and stare at your screen for the next god-knows-how-many hours until the data comes back from the lab?”

As much as Connor would like to say something about Hank’s high cholesterol, how he should probably cut back on his intake of fried foods, Connor himself is getting antsy waiting for the lab results. He decides it would be better to converse, amongst other things, with Hank until he must work again.

“Sure,” Connor finally says, smile still a borderline smirk playing across his lips. “I would love to.”

He follows Hank to their car, analyzing the lieutenant’s vitals. Nothing is out of the ordinary, yet Connor is the one who wishes that maybe Hank would pull him into the car and kiss him for two minutes straight.

Their relationship has been stable, yet physical contact and affection has ceased to exist, excluding that one time. Connor wants it again. He still wants to shove Hank’s dick down his throat and suck it until the man comes.

It takes them a while to drive to Chicken Feed. The ride in itself is not too bad, though the silence is beginning to irk Connor into initiating conversation. If he were not a deviant, the lack of talking would have not bothered him much. He is not just a machine anymore, he thinks, scolding himself internally.

“Haven’t they made an upgrade for you androids to experience eating yet?” Hank wonders aloud, before Connor can come up with anything to say.

“Not that I know of, lieutenant,” Connor responds thoughtfully. “I would not know what we would get out of consuming sustenance such as food.”

Hank huffs, “Pleasure, Connor. You might get pleasure out of the good ol’ wine and dine. If you tasted Chicken Feed’s special plate, maybe you would understand why I come here most days. It’s good food.”

Connor arches a brow. “Lieutenant-” he starts, but Hank cuts him off.

“We aren’t in the office anymore. It’s just ‘Hank’,”

“Hank,” Connor corrects himself. “I cannot imagine getting pleasure out of anything but sex and its intimate acts,”

Suddenly, Hank slams his foot on the brake, car coming to an abrupt halt. He looks mortified but, thankfully, there is no accident that occurs due to Hank’s stop. 

“Are those wires you call a brain fried?” he almost yells. “For fuck’s sake, Connor. I wasn’t talking about _that_ type of pleasure. My god. I swear, the only thing that goes through dudes’ minds your age is anal, frottage, and blowjobs.”

But I’m not like guys “my age”, Connor refrains from arguing.

“You should be ashamed,” Hank says, stepping on the gas so they can pull into the parking lot near Chicken Feed.

But, contrary to Hank’s words, Connor is beginning to swell in his undergarments. What would happen if Connor opened up Hank’s trousers and went down on him in the middle of traffic? Something about that brings a shiver down his spine, excitement bubbling in the pit of his belly. It brings him back to the other night, when he obtained a hard-on through thoughts of Hank dancing to 2014 songs; how he so wanted to take Hank’s cock deep in his throat and _choke on it_. Before he knows it, Hank shifts the car to park.

Perfect. He can go in for the kill.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Connor cuts the car ignition before gazing straight into Hank’s eyes. His statistics immediately spike; pupils dilating, heart rate increasing, breath shallow like he’s run a mile. If Hank were to say he was not attracted to Connor, his vitals would show that he is clearly lying.

“Hank,” Connor barely whispers, directing his eyes to steal glances at Hank’s lips. He has discovered the importance of body language and, in this case, he is asking for a kiss.

 **LT. ANDERSON HAS GRANTED PERMISSION - MISSION ACCOMPLISHED** blares in his head when Hank closes the gap between them and presses his lips to Connor’s own.

They kiss with ferocity, like a fire has been lit in their blood, the heat coursing through their bodies. It is no less than exquisite, their “snogging” as detective Gavin Reed puts it. Connor’s tongue is swift, chasing Hank’s as they duel for dominance. He moans when Hank nips him on accident, jaw unconsciously clenching a bit when Connor strokes the inside of the lieutenant’s cheek with his substance analyzer. He can still faintly taste the familiarity of booze Hank had last night, his breakfast; the hint of minty chewing gum imminent to cloak the fact that Hank is a heavy drinker.

Hank’s hands clutch at Connor’s work tie, almost as if he is going to pull him in, push their bodies together in the awkward, tight space of the automobile they sit in. Instead, he fondles the material lightly before shoving Connor back into his rightful seat.

Connor whines when Hank breaks the kiss.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hank says, bewildered, but is aroused nonetheless.

“I want you, Hank,” Connor gives himself over to the truth. He lowers his head, still looking at Hank. Hank is bad liar, because Connor knows the man wants him, too. “Please, let me have this one time.”

“God, you deviants are just so,” Hank never finishes the sentence, as Connor’s hands are already flying to the man’s belt. “Fuck,”

“Hank…” Connor murmurs, bending down so that his face is close to the zipper of Hank’s pants. He pecks along the fly, thumb and forefinger deftly slipping the button from its hole so that he may have better access to Hank’s zipperline.

Though he does not need oxygen to survive, Connor still pants in and out, blows of taken air ghosting over Hank’s growing groin area. There is a certain giddiness that comes with Connor’s actions, because he finds himself nearly too impatient for foreplay. Leaning in, the android still takes the zipper piece by his front teeth and pulls it down its track, knowing it makes for a very sexy image.

Connor’s eyelashes flutter as the scent of manly musk hits his nasal sensors. He can practically taste the waves of arousal wafting off of Hank. Even though the man showered last night, the scent is strong, just how Connor likes it to be. Without control, he buries his nose into the fabric of Hank’s boxers, taking in the smell inhale by simulated inhale.

“Oh, you are _so_ messed up,” Hank groans, but there is no malice in his tone. His head tips back, eyes blinking rapidly. It is as if Hank is _looking down on him_ , and that excites Connor to no end. “Go on,” he says. “Suck your superior’s cock.”

Grinning, that is exactly what Connor aims to do. He moans then, reaching a hand up to feel along Hank’s clothed length. It is so hard, it is dripping; the android can feel the tip of Hank’s cock wet with precum. It smears its pearlescent fluid on the fabric, seeping through it so that Connor may witness the effects of his actions on the lieutenant.

With deft fingers, he shifts aside the hem of Hank’s shirt and pulls down the waistband of his boxers. The man’s member catches in the cloth for a second, earning a hiss from Hank, but manages to spring up and out of its confines thereafter.

Connor licks his lips, eyes fixed on Hank’s wonderful cock. As if his imagination had not played it up enough; Hank’s erection is even more scrumptious-looking up close and personal. Connor takes a moment to breathe in the scent rolling off of it, “tasting” the air with his olfactory sensors.

The head is an angry pinkish-red color. It’s length stands tall, arching as it goes towards the tip. No foreskin, as Hank has been circumcised, but pretty nonetheless. A prominent vein is located on the underside of his cock. It sits in a healthy bush of pubic hair, salt and peppered, thanks to Hank’s age. The lieutenant’s member is gorgeous. Connor’s throat gives a simulation of a blissful ache when he thinks about fitting all of Hank’s large girth in his mouth.

“I gave you an order, Connor,” Hank grits out. Still, there is no bite to his words, just pure desperation.

“Yes, sir.”

Thirium-like lubricant floods Connor’s mouth, leaving it slick and warm enough for Hank’s liking. With wide, innocent eyes fixed on the lieutenant’s every expression, the android takes his time closing his lips tight around the bulbous tip of Hank’s cock. His tongue comes in to play, licking slowly at the slit.

It is salty, the taste, as his sample analyzer tells him. Organic matter. Hank Anderson is in relatively good health. Connor relishes it, swallowing to take it within him and store it until further notice.

Slowly, Connor bobs his head, taking a little more of Hank’s cock into his mouth each time his head sinks down.

 **SAMPLE TO BE CONTAMINATED** , but Connor whisks the warning away. Instead, he hollows out his cheeks, applying suction to his fellatio.

“Holy fuckin’-“ Hank cries out, “Connor, what the hell,”

Connor bats his eyes flirtatiously, but does not say a thing… his mouth is so full of Hank’s girth that it is impossible to form words.

He adds tongue to his head bobbing, swirling and pressing it along the underside of the member with quick, firm wriggles. It gets Hank squirming in this position, hips struggling to thrust up into Connor’s administrations. Connor holds him down, though, keeping him pinned to the driver’s seat.

The gear shift digs uncomfortably in Connor’s side, but he does not seem to care too much. It is a dull object, not enough to puncture or wound him fatally. There is still a few inches that will not fit completely in just Connor’s mouth, and the android hopes to fix that.

Hands grasp his hair then, brown locks screwed between clenched fists. Connor feels the tug of Hank’s hands; he moans around the man’s length, earning one that complements his.

Allowing Hank to take the lead, Connor withdraws, placing his own hands on the lieutenant’s thighs. He lets Hank control him, sliding his mouth down his cock centimeter by centimeter.

However, the initial slam down takes Connor by surprise.

Gurgling, Connor forces his throat open to accommodate the rest of Hank’s member, tongue now at the base of the man’s cock. His artificial epiglottis flutters rapidly, directing Hank down his esophagus and not towards his trachea. It causes Hank to groan loudly and, in this time, Connor is glad they have got the car windows rolled up so no one can hear them well.

Thirium-esque spit drools from Connor’s lips now, leaving sticky patches in Hank’s pubic hair. His nose is pressed up against the skin there, taking in all of Hank’s manly odor. He loves it.

He craves more.

Soon, Hank begins to move Connor’s head along his length. The slide is slick, helping mitigate some of the discomfort that Connor feels with his epiglottis. He relaxes it, disabling it from doing its job for the time being. He wants to feel this moment through and through; let Hank fuck his throat to oblivion and back.

“God, you are so good for me,” Hank gets generous with his praises when he is having sex, Connor notes. “Taking my cock like a champ,”

Connor gives an affirming suck at the words, eyes fixed on Hank’s own. Gold-flecked brown meets deep blue, holding each other’s gaze as Connor reaches down into Hank’s pants to fondle at his balls. A moan rips from the lieutenant, heart rate spiking.

“You know I like that,” Hank confesses, “If you keep that up, I’ll come before you’re anywhere near blowing me.”

Slightly disappointed, Connor’s fingers retreat. As much as he would like to have Hank’s spend spurt in hot ribbons within him, the man is right. Connor is nowhere near satisfied fellating Hank yet.

“Good boy,” Connor can hear the smile in Hank’s praise. “Now, let me fuck your little, slutty mouth.”

Oh, yes, please, runs through Connor’s mind. He blinks slowly, not unlike a cat adoring its owner, in favor of Hank’s suggestion.

The lieutenant is gentle with the first rock of his hips, drawing them as far as he can in his seat before the minuscule intrusion of Connor’s hot cavern. He huffs in delight, seeing that Connor can take it when his cock hits the back of the android’s esophagus.

Connor whines around Hank’s length, knowing well that the vibrations of his voice will add extra pleasure. He feels the thrill as Hank speeds up, getting messier, harsh and unforgiving with his thrusts. The car might possibly rock a bit from the force, he calculates; Connor blushes at the fact that they are still in public, meaning _anyone_ can witness their debauched, sweet coupling.

Hank, ever acute to Connor, practically reads his mind. He snorts, “Don’t get us caught, Connor. This is a parking lot, and you’re technically giving me road head.” Connor reflects aroused shame in his eyes, but does not lower them. “But a wicked one like you would like that, now wouldn’t you? Having people witness you sucking off your superior while in a very open place,”

Humiliation should hurt him, but Connor only moans and paws at Hank’s thighs pleadingly. He can feel his own erection throbbing, begging for stimulation. Still, he ignores it; not blocking its receptors, but forcing himself not to do something about it out of sheer will.

His lips are slick with saliva, sliding up and down Hank’s member perfectly, like a piston. It feels so good, taking in Hank’s cock like this, letting him take control.

The tip brushes something within Connor’s throat that makes him cough. Except he cannot, as Hank takes up the entirety of his mouth, muting his cough-on-choke. It sends tingles all throughout the android’s body. He shivers. It is an exquisite feeling, none like any other.

“Oh, fuck, Connor,” Hank curses vividly. “You’re tightening up so much,”

His dick twitches within Connor’s throat, causing Connor’s epiglottis to spasm. Connor thought he had turned it off, but he is not opposed to it fluttering around Hank, and therefore keeps all his functions on.

Scanning the lieutenant, it looks as if Hank will not last too much longer. The muscles in his pelvis are taut like a bungee cord, balls drawn up towards his body and ready for release.

Connor swipes his tongue to and fro along the girth of Hank’s cock.

All too soon, Hank is tugging at his dark hair, grunts aggressively punched out of him as he comes down Connor’s waiting throat. His face contorts before going slack in ecstasy, teeth bared at the force of his orgasm.

Connor whimpers, eyes rolling to the back of their sockets as his esophagus takes in the entirety of Hank’s seed. It is so warm, gushing out in spurts. It makes Connor smile, or at least attempt to, around the thick shaft of Hank’s cock. He keeps his head still, knowing how overwhelmed humans can be after they come.

Taking a hand, Connor palms at himself. He releases Hank with a smack of his lips, licking up the last drops of cum as they spill over his artificial tongue.

“Look at you,” Hank mumbles, a dopey grin on his face. He looks blissed out. “Dirty from my cum.”

Connor gasps, squeezing himself harder through his pants. He needs Hank to keep talking to him. He won’t last much longer.

“Swallow the rest of it, baby,” Hank says when Connor sticks out his tongue, showing off the minute white streaks of spend still present. “You wouldn’t want to waste it, now would you?”

Shaking his head, Connor closes his mouth and makes an audible gulp, taking down the rest of Hank’s cum.

“Let me see that you did what I told you to,”

Obediently, the RK800 model proudly displays his sample analyzer, as there is not one speck of pearlescent fluid on its surface.

“Very good,” Hank says, eyeing the way Connor furiously pets the bulge in his own pants. “You look like you want something, Connor.”

Connor bites his lip, nodding. “Yes, Hank. Please,” he finds the outline of his cock now, stroking it hard. He pants out little ah's, eyes glazing over with lust.

“I don’t think I understand,” Hank cooes cruelly. “Tell me. In detail.”

Whimpering, Connor wills himself to say it, “Please, Hank. Let me come,”

With a blink of an eye, the lieutenant reaches over, slapping Connor’s hand away and rubbing over the android’s cock with strong fingers.

“You’re going to come,” Hank whispers darkly into Connor’s ear. “And you’re going to come _now_.”

With something like a lightning bolt striking the surface of Connor’s mind, he arches his back and does just that.

Pleasure crashes over him like a wave, engulfing him in an ecstasy so pure that he cannot hear anything but the rush of it. His visuals glitch, bright sparks popping in his peripherals. It is like all his thirium has rushed to his head, making him dizzy and starved in other places. His thirium pump palpitates like a hiccup and, for a moment, Connor feels like he is dying.

But this is much better than dying, he thinks. He accepts rapture, brain going numb with white-noise, crackling static.

All too soon, however, Connor snaps back to reality. His pants are dirtied with his cum, chest heaving in breaths like Hank, who is staring at him in awe.

He blinks rapidly, trying to recalibrate himself.

“Feel better now?” Hank asks.

Connor strokes the man’s cheek, sitting up so he can steal a kiss. They lick each other’s lips silently, drawing close before breaking apart.

“Yes, much,” Connor finally responds, resting his head in the crook of Hank’s neck and shoulder. “Thank you, Hank.”

“Why thank me?” Despite his words, Hank brings a hand between Connor’s shoulder blades, patting him soothingly. “We needed this… even though I wish we could have talked it out first,” With only a second’s pause, “But I guess this went better than it could have, so there isn’t a problem anymore.”

“Actually, lieutenant, there is,” Connor draws back to look Hank in the eye. He sounds serious. “How am I going back to the office with pants _like this_?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please give kudos if you think Hank would taste like the food from Chicken Feed.  
> Talk to me on Twitter @ra9sthiccbicc


End file.
